


Rounding Third, Headed For Home

by mardia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just that when Steve’s looking at him like that--like he likes what he sees and wants to see more of it--it gets even harder for Sam to remember why it’s a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rounding Third, Headed For Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the Chuck Berry song, "Brown-Eyed Handsome Man". So many thanks to impertinence for reading this over repeatedly and yelling at me to post.

Steve hangs up his phone, looking both pleased and a little rueful. “So I think I got a line on a place for us to stay in New York while we’re looking for Bucky.”

Sam’s been busy packing up boxes, and he’d been only half-listening to Steve’s phone call, so he says absently, ripping off another piece of tape, “Your friend Tony going to set us up?” Then the penny finally drops. “As in Tony _Stark?_ ”

Steve’s mouth curls up. “Little slow on the uptake there, but that’s okay.”

“Do me a favor,” Sam says, getting up from the ground and stretching out his stiff muscles, arms raised high over his head. “Next time you tell me about your friend Tony, maybe mention it’s the same Tony Stark that’s rich enough to buy half the planet.”

“Will do,” Steve says, but his eyes aren’t on Sam’s face--instead, they’re lingering a little lower, on Sam’s shoulders and chest, and before Sam can even begin to parse that, Steve’s meeting his eyes again, blue eyes calm and guileless, almost enough to convince Sam that he’s imagining it. 

Except that Steve’s a lot of things, but guileless isn’t actually one of them. 

“Want to order some food?” Sam offers, and his voice sounds normal enough that it papers over the pause in conversation. “I can get some pizza delivered.”

“Sounds good,” Steve agrees, so clearly they’re not going to talk about--whatever that was just then. “I’ll pick up the check.”

“Uh, no you’re not--”

“Sam,” Steve says, patiently, “I’m going to eat an entire pizza by myself, at minimum. Let me get the check on this one.”

“Fair point,” Sam says after a moment with a shrug. “I’ll call it in.” His phone’s charging in the bedroom, which allows Sam to walk off and remind himself, again, of why even thinking about starting something up with Steve Rogers is a bad idea on many, many levels.

It’s just that when Steve’s looking at him like that--like he likes what he sees and wants to see more of it--it gets even harder for Sam to remember why it’s a bad idea.

And if he’s honest with himself, Sam’s already having a hard enough time remembering that as is.

Shaking his head, Sam unplugs his phone from the charger and heads back to his half-packed living room, asking, “Hey Steve, what do you want on your pizza?”

*

“You’re footing the bill for the pizza from now on,” Sam says, watching Steve polish off the last of his pizza, and sending hopeful looks towards the last few slices from Sam’s pizza. Sam laughs and shoves the pizza box his way. 

“Bedroom’s already packed up,” Sam says once the last of the pizza is gone. “Want to just crash out here? We can pile up the blankets and pillows if you want.”

An odd look flits across Steve’s face for a second, but then he’s smiling at Sam. “Sure. That sounds fine by me.”

They get set up, blankets and pillows arranged just so--a battery-powered lantern or two for when the sun finally sets. Sam’s got a pack of cards handy, but they barely even touch them, or the iPad by Steve’s side--instead they just talk. 

It’s Steve starting up, asking Sam questions about his life, his family, where he went to college. Sam’s not normally one for blurting out his entire life story, but with Steve, it’s easy opening up, the two of them jumping from tangent to tangent until Sam’s got Steve laughing fit to kill over some of the pranks he and his buddies pulled in middle school. 

It’s not that Sam’s not blind either, he can see Steve steering the conversation, guiding it away from anything that touches too close to Steve himself, where he’s been, what they’ll be doing starting tomorrow. When the laughter’s faded a little, but Steve’s still grinning up at the ceiling, loose and relaxed, Sam says, casually, “Now I’m pretty sure you don’t need to hear me yapping about myself all night.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I minded,” Steve says. “And I like hearing you talk about yourself. It’s good, you know? Learning more about you.” He shoots Sam a little sideways glance through those long eyelashes of his, and adds, “With everything that’s happened it’s...funny, realizing how little time we’ve known each other for.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. It’s a lot of things, but funny’s maybe the best way of describing it. 

“So this is me playing catchup,” Steve says, giving Sam a sunny smile. “Can’t ask you to run around with me if I don’t know your mother’s first name.” 

“It’s Cheryl,” Sam says with a snort. 

“Well, that’s a lovely name right there,” Steve says solemnly, then beams when Sam snorts again at this. “But honestly, Sam,” he goes on, voice more serious now. “I’m sure you wouldn’t accept any thanks I tried to give you--” Sam raises an eyebrow, because he’s right there, “--but you’ve got them anyway. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam says. “But for the record, I’d do every bit of it over again. Well,” he considers, “--maybe not the part about jumping out of the 41st floor of a building without my wings or a chute, but the rest, yeah.”

He grins, and Steve’s smiling back, but not his usual grin, this is more--wondering. “What?” Sam asks. 

“Just,” Steve shakes his head. “If I’d known you’d be there, I would’ve started jogging along that route a lot sooner.”

It takes a second for the words to hit, and then Sam’s just left staring at Steve--his steady eyes, the faint flush to his cheeks, that pink mouth. And if it’s just him looking, then okay, Sam knows how to deal with that, how to put it aside and move on. 

What he’s having a harder time dealing with is Steve looking back at him, and saying these things, and lying there on the floor in that too-tight shirt like--

Before he can talk himself out of it, before he can think twice--hell, before he can _think_ \--Sam’s leaning down and brushing his lips against Steve’s pink mouth. It’s barely a kiss, just a dry press of the mouth, but Sam’s heart is pounding dully in his ears and his mind is wiped clean of everything except the feeling of Steve Rogers’s soft mouth. 

Sam has absolutely no idea what’ll happen when he pulls back, but what does happen is Steve letting out a heartfelt, “Oh, thank God,” and dragging Sam back down for another kiss. He’s not at all shy about it either, his hands cupping Sam’s face, kissing him with plenty of intent, and Sam just holds on and tries to give as good as he gets, stunned that even here, they’re still on the same page with each other. 

It just keeps going from there, until Sam’s crawled all the way on top of Steve, straddling his hips, the two of them still kissing frantically. They haven’t started stripping yet, but Steve’s hands are running up and down Sam’s back like he’s looking to become acquainted with every inch of Sam’s body, and really, Sam is not complaining there. 

He’s got his fingers in Steve’s soft hair, sucking on Steve’s tongue until Steve’s groaning and trying to drag him in closer, and Sam’s mind is skipping forward, to all the times they can do this again, on the road, in their new digs in New York--

And there’s the glitch that freezes everything. New York. Where they’ll be looking for Bucky, Steve’s best friend, the guy that Steve will give up everything for. The guy that Sam thinks Steve’s half in love with, and maybe even more than that.

Goddammit. 

Steve notices him freezing up; he pulls back a little, concerned, face flushed and mouth wet. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam says on automatic, then shakes his head. “Not--we need to stop.”

It comes out harsher than he means it to, and he can see the exact second when Steve pulls back. “Okay.”

“Not--” Sam holds up a hand, even as he’s getting off Steve, retreating back to a safer distance. “I want to do this. Obviously,” he adds with a huff, gesturing at himself, then at Steve. “I’m just not sure this is a good idea right now. Not with everything that’s happening.”

There’s the briefest of pauses, and then Steve dips his head, that awful poker-faced blankness finally gone. “Okay,” he says, more softly this time. 

“I’m still following you to New York,” Sam says. “You need me and I want to be there. I just--”

“It’s bad timing,” Steve offers, with a smile that’s rueful and understanding on the surface, and underneath that, full of a sadness that has Sam’s heart clenching in his chest. “Kind of a running theme with me.”

“Steve.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t. It’s okay, you’re right.” Slowly, giving Sam enough time to pull away if he wants, he leans in for one last kiss, soft and lingering, and the feel of it, of Steve’s soft mouth, it’s got Sam going even now, maybe maybe maybe--

But this is the only answer Sam can give Steve right now. He can’t compete with Peggy Carter and Bucky Barnes, and he’s too smart to try, there’s too much counting on it.

He’s got to be smarter than to try.

“We should turn in,” Sam says after a moment, and Steve nods in agreement. They settle into their respective blankets, a discreet inch of space between them on the floor, and Sam wonders if he’s the only one whose mouth is still buzzing from those kisses. 

Steve’s voice is quiet in the darkness. “Night, Sam.”

“See you in the morning,” Sam says gently. He thinks it’ll be a while before he can get to sleep, and he’s right, but thankfully sleep comes for him all the same, eventually.

*

The morning after is not anywhere near as awkward as it should be. Partly because they have tasks to do, loading up the car, cleaning up the last of the mess from last night--and a big part of it is Steve, who simply won’t let things devolve into awkward silences.

By the time the car’s packed up and they’ve hit the road, things are nearly back to normal.

“Play some music?” Steve asks, and Sam smiles and talks Steve through hooking up his iPod to the car, setting it on shuffle.

By the time they’re out of DC and onto the highway, Steve’s been introduced to Gladys and the Pips, the Stones, Tina Turner, and Outkast. Steve listens to it all, sometimes smiles, sometimes hums along, and sometimes asks Sam the kind of questions he can’t answer without breaking out Wikipedia on his phone.

Right after the last strains of “Hey Ya” finish up, another song starts to play. _“Arrested on charges of unemployment…”_

“I’ve heard this song before,” Steve says, sounding pleased to hear something he knows, and when Sam glances over at him he’s smiling. “Was a different version though, female singer.”

“This is the original,” Sam says with a laugh. “Chuck Berry, Brown-Eyed Handsome Man.”

_“...meet a brown-eyed handsome man, her destination was a brown-eyed handsome man…”_

Sam sings along, half under his breath, and when he looks over again, Steve’s watching him now, a smile still on his face. “What? C’mon man, I know my singing’s not that bad.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve agrees, and when the song ends, he asks, “Play it again?”

“Yeah,” Sam says with a smile, reaching for the iPod. “I can do that.”

 

epilogue: 

“I’ve decided,” Sam says, gingerly propping up his twisted ankle on the table, “--I’m getting Stark to build me a new skeleton. He’d get a kick out of the challenge, and I wouldn’t have to deal with messing up my joints anymore.”

“He’d probably do it if you asked,” Steve says wryly, sitting down next to Sam on their couch. He seems nonchalant, but he’s eyeing Sam’s ankle with the look on his face when he’s trying to hide his concern and doing a bad job of it. 

“Don’t worry, Cap,” Sam says, smiling--it’s way too easy to smile at Steve, even banged up and with a bum ankle, exhaustion and adrenaline simmering right under his skin. His knuckles are torn up, they just took down five Hydra agents, and they’re both alive and intact at the end of the night. “I’m not actually interested in becoming Tony Stark’s experiment.”

Steve’s looking at him, dirty and ruffled, hair still wild, and his expression is so openly soft and fond as he says, “Good, because I kind of like you as is.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing that Sam wants to read into, exactly the kind of thing that makes Sam want to say, “Don’t say that unless you mean it.” Except it’s Steve. Of course he means it, and of course Sam knows that. Hell, Steve’s probably _counting_ on Sam knowing that.

Just like Steve probably knows exactly how he’s looking at Sam, right this second, the same way he’s been looking at Sam since they moved to New York six months ago. Six months of searching for Bucky, and smoking out Hydra cells, and all this time, Steve’s been looking at Sam. No expectations, no demands, just--looking. 

And right now, Sam’s honest enough to admit that he’s been looking back, all this time, and wanting more. 

Sam hesitates for a brief second, then does what he’s been doing since the day he met Steve Rogers. He jumps. “We should go out tomorrow night. Get dinner.”

Steve visibly brightens at this, but his voice is steady as he says, “I haven’t tried Ethiopian food yet. We could go and get that.”

Sam smiles at him, slow, and watches the faint flush deepening in Steve’s cheeks as he does. “Okay, I’m paying.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow at this, but he’s beaming regardless. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Sam shrugs. “I usually like to pay on the first date.”

The smile on Steve’s face is bright enough to power Stark Tower. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, letting himself finally start to grin right as Steve’s leaning into his personal space, warm and solid and everything Sam wants. “I do what you do, just slower, right?”

Steve answers with a kiss, and that’s just fine with Sam--he can keep up here, and it’s as easy to do as flying through clear blue skies.


End file.
